Morbidezza
by Ebraheart
Summary: Scott isn't dealing with losing Jean he's running away. Logan's getting tired of it he loved her too.


"Morbidezza"

By: Ebraheart

Morbidezza: delicacy or softness in the representation of flesh.

I discreetly studied the man in my office a moment as I collected myself.

Logan hadn't ever been the tamest of men, but nearly always brought things into perspective. Like now, sitting merely within his presence, he reminded me that he was a man who did and never waited for orders other than his own.

A man, basically put, of action.

I laughed to myself as I was reminded that though sending Logan would accomplish what I would have liked to do myself, it would be done no less effectively.

Simply more forcefully, if the method in question would be put to inspection.

"Logan…I do apologize for the time", I began and rubbed my temples, "…but Scott has left the manor recently, and he's been broadcasting some terribly disturbing imagery"

Logan arched an eyebrow, always at odds with the idea that I was so attuned to such things, and leaned onto my desk, crossing strong arms over a solid chest, "And I fit in where exactly, Chuck?"

I smiled at the incongruous nickname; he had one for nearly everyone, and was fond of this habit though I knew not why, "Is there anyone else I could possibly ask to fetch an anguished son of mine at nearly four in the morning?"

Logan's eyes narrowed, though he did not refuse right away, "Where's he gone?"

I purse my lips out of habit and let tired eyes fall closed, "Alkali Lake"

I feel Logan move before I hear him, and when I my eyes are open, so is my office door, and Logan, as dear to me as all others I shelter in this place, is quite completely, gone.

I smile to myself once more, tension leaving my shoulders with the knowledge that Scott will be back tomorrow morning, and admire Logan for what he has always been: pure instinct.

The rumbling of another motorcycle should have registered, but it didn't.

The crunch of boots on rough rocks I should have heard, but I didn't.

The heady smell of newly lit cigar should have roused me, but it did no such thing.

I was already blind in a sense that would nearly always haunt me, follow me straight down into the darkness that would be my death, so losing other senses didn't bother me nearly a much as it should have.

I couldn't ignore, however, the man at my side, starring straight out into the placid water with me.

"Been freezin' your ass to death out here and likin' it, One-Eye?"

I want to retort, but realize that I can't want to that much, since my mouth won't form the words to answer.

I just stare ahead, noticing only after another moment that Logan has left my side.

"One of us has gotta pretend to be a thinking' adult", I hear him say from behind me, sarcastic as he builds a fire.

"You should go back. The Professor can't protect me forever. He can't fix me either"

Logan's strong hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the water's edge jars me, makes the bottom of my stomach drop out for just a second, but not out of fear. How many times in a relatively distant past can I remember being manhandled by an older, stronger man, like this? The irony gets me laughing a tad hysterically, but Logan's hand isn't letting up until it's pushed me down to sit at the foot of his fire.

I sigh when I realize that I will not be left to my voluntarily destructive behavior, and just as suddenly, I am angry all over again. Jean was my world; no one has the right to force to live in a place that has lost all trace of her.

Logan crouches across from me, daring me to act on the sudden tension between us. Give me an excuse to slice you up, I can imagine him thinking.

"Why don't you?" I muse aloud.

Logan puffs away on his cigar but doesn't pretend not to have heard me, "Because Chuck wants to see you wrapped up in bed, nice and tight by tomorrow morning, before you go any crazier and kill yourself"

He sounds amused, but continues as I start talking back, "And don't ask me why I care. She wanted you to live, it's the least anyone could do for her. I'll keep you ticking even if it means slicing you up real pretty and putting you back together again, as many times as I'll have to"

That's a threat, but I can't place how. He can't cut me to ribbons if he's trying to keep me going, can he?

Logan, ladies and gentlemen, master of mystery, or was that contradiction? I'm laughing again, and that desperate edge is back.

From here, that cigar stench is drifting across to me, heavy and foreign. I cough, because I always do, but I'm still laughing. Laughing so hard that when the laughter turns to tears, I don't notice.

Logan watches, every bit the predator he is and douses his cigar with practiced ease before putting it away. He stands and comes around the fire to me, and I haven't got the strength to be angry when he nudges my knees apart to crouch close enough to watch me cry.

His hand is rough on my face when he wipes the tears away, not gently, but with a sort of determination. As if they'll disappear if he rubs hard enough.

The hysteria takes a hiatus and I'm left hiccupping embarrassingly while his calloused hands chase moisture from the corner of my shielded eyes.

"You're an asshole", he tells me.

Am I?

Logan's eyes are hard on me; they see too much. Such invasive eyes shouldn't be legal. Looking into them reminds me that I really haven't changed. That all I've worked for up to now was a veneer to hide the damaged little boy I really was. The realization made me very still.

"Aren't you?" Logan insists.

A sardonic smile twists my face, "Recognize your own kind?"

Logan's smile is terrifying because I see none of myself in it. He knows himself, or has had time to figure it out. He isn't scared of me and has never been, "I see weakness and I get kinda excited. Why do you think I always try to get that stick outta your ass? Half an inch would'na hurt anybody, but I get the feeling you like it there"

And that sets off another round of hollow laughter because really? How does Logan keep making vague referral to my past like that? Does he even know? Stick up my ass indeed.

Logan shakes his head, "Let's go. You can laugh like a loony broad at home just as nice as you can here"

He moves to stand and I contemplate going along with it. Talking to Logan has somehow made things bearable for the moment, but really, do I want to play tame?

That damned controlling hand under an armpit, hauling me to my feet far more gently then I'd expected and Logan kicks sand into the fire, cloaking us in the shimmery near dark of the lake.

I stare at the water, wondering if Jean realized in that split second the depth of what she had chosen to do, if she regretted it or if she'd been scared. She had wanted me to live, but how could she expect me to, in a place so bleak she had been one of the only things that kept me from imploding, collapsing in on a structure not meant for responsibility.

Not prepared for the burden of caring for others when it could hardly manage for itself?

Logan is dragging me away, unmindful of his tight grip, and I'm unable to look away. If you look at this place, the rock-sand and the water, you'll realize how beautiful it is, and in that instant, between Logan ordering me onto the bike behind him and me complying somewhat dazedly, I think: I'd like to die here someday.

I drag Captain Comatose into his room and dump 'im on the bed. The sun is rising and he's near brain-dead. Ain't nothing but sleep gonna cure that. I do the best I can, tugging off a jacket and shirt and pulling a blanket over him.

He lies prone for a second before he curls into the mattress, pulling off his glasses and dropping them over the edge of the bed. I catch them before they hit the floor and chide myself. Damn things ain't made to break easy, I should a let em' fall.

His face surprises me. He's younger than I first thought if that smooth face under the day old stubble is anything to go by. He ain't nothin' but a kid. No wonder he's taking this so hard.

I turn on my heel, annoyed for being so concerned, but can't manage to slam the door on my wait out.

I gotta see Chuck. Now.

That kid ain't right in the head just now, an' I ain't the best shrink there is. I better make sure the peanut gallery knows the situation. I won't be able to relax otherwise. I ain't seen that kinda crazy in anyone in a long time, and last time I did, it was me, and I know that it's bad news.

'Ro's there when I get there and the Professor is talking to her real low, but I can't be assed to wait so I interrupt, "Mission accomplished, X"

The Professor smiles at me in that way that let's me know he's proud a me, but I wave it aside, "He ain't doin' so good"

I tap my own forehead for emphasis, "He ain't just short a few bricks. Safer bet's the wall's smashed"

It takes 'Ro a minute to get the gist, but the emotion in her gasp when she does mirror's Chuck's worried face. I didn't want to be stayin' here in the first place because being so close to others, you get wrapped up in their problems. Like it or not, Scott Summers was about to become my problem.

Trouble's always been my truest friend.

The Professor rubs his temple, a sign that he's goin' need some time to think, so I motion for 'Ro to leave with me. She pats the Professor's shoulder affectionately and he smiles sadly at her.

Out in the hall with the door shutting softly behind us, 'Ro turns those worried eyes to me, "He really all that bad?"

I try not to look her in the eye, "He's not himself, but it's worse than that; kid's messed up"

'Ro's face falls a little more than it already has, "We were all hoping he'd get better. Mourn as long as he needed, but become stronger, you know?"

I nod, because 'Ro's one of the only people I like, and I can listen for her.

"He can't let this beat him. We can't lose him to this. We all need him"

I'd like to point out that I don't need nobody, but now's nether the time nor place, "I'll sub Combat Practice and Tactics if you take over Red-Eye's classes"

'Ro grins gratefully at me and I wave it off, "You need all the help you can get. Side's, any more stress and that hair'll get whiter than it already is"

She slaps me playfully on the arm and we split in opposite directions at the end of the hall.

My eyes are screwed tightly shut when I finally wake from my nightmares. I'm not wearing my sleeping goggles and as I pat around the surface of the bed, I can't lay a hand on my everyday glasses. I shrug and sit up, as sudden pulsing pain behind my eyes jolts me out of bed, landing me hip first off the bed and onto the floor.

Nonplussed, I breathe shallowly while the pain ebbs away.

Reaching up tentatively, I untangle my legs from the sheets and slip into a sitting position on the floor. My arms are shaking as I reach behind me, allowing my hand to feel it's way up the side of my bedside table. My fingertips bush the cool ruby surface of a lens and I quickly slip them on.

My room comes into sharp soft-red focus and I stare around, afraid to sit up. Afraid of the sudden, surging pain that felt like fear and ache and longing all in one. Afraid of Jean's voice echoing distressed, inside my head if I dared to so much as breath.

The tears came unbidden and I cursed them. I hadn't cried all those years ago, a kid prostitute, and I hadn't cried through the ordeal of becoming the Scott Summers I am today.

Was I in mourning or was I just scared?

Did I have the right to be both? Either?

I beg off answering to myself by trying to figure out what time it is. My blinds are drawn tight, so I turn instead, mindful of moving suddenly and stare at the wall side clock that suggests about five o'clock.

I missed every single one of my classes and can't muster up the energy to care.

I jump at the knock on my door and hold my breath as the knob turns and Logan immerges, eyebrows arched at seeing me on the floor.

At his look, I shake myself off and climb to my bare feet and scowl because I'm supposed to, "What?"

The irritation is real, but for once, it isn't directed at Logan. You can act like an idiot; I reprimand myself, but not in front of Logan.

His eyebrows drop into a matching scowl, but his has less heat then mine; it's his habitual expression in regards to me, "Chuck wants to have a talk with you"

I dreaded hearing that. If I've ever had to answer to anyone in my entire life, it's the Professor, and it wasn't even because I had to. I simply owed it to him.

I stare down the length of my body, irritated by the weight I'd lost, but unwilling to do anything about it. Since I was already wearing jeans, all I'd need was a shirt. I motion for Logan to leave.

He stares hard at me, eyes taking in my figure and I square off with him, daring him to say something.

Finally, he shakes his head and shuts the door behind him. That look said everything he was thinking.

And he's gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief and pull on a deep blue t-shirt. I don't want Logan around when I'm feeling so…vulnerable. It's bad enough he can see through me, but he feels the need to comment on it too?

Dressed, but still barefoot, I step out into the hall. The students will be in their rooms before dinner, not hanging out in the corridors to the Professor's office, so no worries there.

Padding off, I try to avoid as many people as I can. I haven't seen my face, or shaved lately, so it might not be pretty.

His door is open when I get there and I slip inside, closing it behind me, unaccountably relieved at the way the room blankets us both; hiding us from the world just beyond the door.

He's doing this to make me feel safe, I know.

He's sitting at the widow, gazing out with those eyes that know so much and give away so little.

"Hey, Dad", I say, jokingly.

The Professor turns in his chair, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, his eyes crinkling deeply at the corners giving him away as usual, "Hello, Son"

I sit at his desk, right at his elbow and we stare out. I see empty, inky sky but can only guess at what my surrogate father must see.

After a pause of good-natured silence, he asks: "Did you find, my boy, what it was you were looking for?"

I can't speak for a moment and when I do, my voice is brittle, "I'll never find it again. It's already gone"

The Professor nods, "She was everything, wasn't she? From tenaciously brave to unconditionally loving, while being indistinguishably frail…"

I nod. I didn't know her with those words, but I knew her in that sentence, and I knew her in the way the Professor spoke.

He pats my arm, and his eyes are so much older than they were a minute ago, "Am I to lose you too?"

I would have said no not so long ago, but from second to minute to hour to day, we are changing, increments at a time, and the new me can't answer truthfully.

The Professor smiles sadly, "Eloquent; you silence"

I shake my head, turn my face away, "I'm…sorry. After all you've done."

"Don't be", he says and means it, "I understand perfectly well"

"I don't" Logan says sharply from the doorway.

The Professor and I stare at him, fully dressed, leaving again by the looks of it.

I glare but he ignores me, walking into the room and to the Professor's other side, "Thanks for the Intel, Chuck. Won't see me around for a while"

The Professor smiles and reaches out to pat his arm, the way he does mine; "You know there is a place here for you if you so choose"

He nods and turns on his heel, glancing at me on his way out.

Those eyes are on me only a few seconds but they bore into my person, seeing the cowardice there and daring me to shed it.

The door shuts behind us and we both turn back to the window, only this time, my calm is shattered. Logan brings out a side of me I can't control and the knowledge that he's unafraid to provoke it makes me jittery. One look and I'm aware of the stillness of my being, of the decay I'm allowing to settle in, of the pain I'm forcing myself to feel because I'm afraid to live by letting go.

"A rather stirring presence, that Logan. Don't you agree, Scott?"

I turn and look at the man I've come to know as my father, all crinkles from smiling and stress, intelligent eyes and strong features and realize he's telling me something, or trying to.

"Logan would refuse your company, but possibly not your capability", he continues, as if he wasn't holding a one sided conversation with me, "And I'm sure Mr. McCoy would be pleased to take over your classes"

I stare, allowing the gears of my mind to get up to speed, understanding what the Professor is suggesting but not sure I dare. It's Logan we're talking about.

"And, after all…" the Professor adds, "What better person to ensure the safety of his motor vehicles than the owner himself?"

I squeeze his hand and take off running.

Damn near tired of this place. Was startin' to think Chuck was out to keep me. I grumble about it all the way through the manor.

It's not so bad out here, really, but I've never been much of a homebody. Wilderness has always been a part'a me, no use trying to domesticate myself now. Side's, I can't watch four eyes waste away.

Makes my stomach turn.

I know he loved her, and he'll probably never understand that I loved her just as much, if not more, but I ain't seen the end of my days and I ain't about to stop here. After all the shit I've been through, there's only the road ahead to look forward to.

A quick stop to see Rogue, a sharp look at her boyfriend, Bobby, for the hell of it, a one armed hug for 'Ro, and a polite to-do for Hank and I'm on my godamn way.

The garage is dark when I get there and I flick on only the lights I need. I pick Scott's favorite bike for the hell of it and start loading up.

I do a lot of things for the hell of it, don' I?

I chuckle and strap down a few more things but pause, mid check up.

Someone's coming. Running towards me.

I look up in time to see Scott appear in the far garage door, panting like he's run a marathon. He doesn't stay there. He walks right up to me, radiating something not quite like anger but close.

I stare him down but he doesn't look away. I make it a point to step up into his personal space, "Need something, Fearless Leader?"

He flinches, understanding the dig but still unwilling to back the hell off. He reaches a hand up and brushes floppy light brown bangs outta his eyes, "Take me with you"

I'm barking laughter before I can figure out what's gotten into me.

Scott stands, no less intimidated, no less determined, while I compose myself and light my cigar, finally calmed.

"Why?" I say this after the smoke in my lungs had a chance to dry up my sinuses. Haven't laughed like that in a while.

He takes a step away, leans on the bike I've packed. Takes his shades off and tiredly wipes his forehead, looks at me, eyes closed, "I need to"

The sincerity of the words does it for me. He's been a shadow of himself since Jean. First time I hear any real emotion outta him. Saddled with him, now.

I nudge him away from the bike to resume checking over my junk, "Back here in ten or I leave without you"

I look up after he's gone and puff on my cigar.

Trouble really has always been my truest friend.

Canada is cold.

It's the first thing I realize. Cooler all round weather.

Logan walks around in t-shirts and flannel. I'm up to my ears sweaters and long johns.

"What do you think, Boy-Scout Summers? She to your likin'?"

Logan's being smart again, but the view makes up for it. There's really great forest up here. Lots of snow and lots of pure nature: lots of life.

He settles us down in Alberta, but won't say a thing about what we're doing there. Takes off hours at a time, leaving me to my own devices. Surprises me with his ability to cook half-decent food, bought me another sweater after he shredded one to wrap his cigars in.

Logan is different up here. I see him living. Being normal. Unperturbed by cold. At ease with people out here. And Canada isn't all wildernesses, but it's his home.

I always figured home would be a little less, well, homey.

Moves us out again, further up north, to a place he has where it's even colder.

Logan's amazing skill on a motorcycle isn't all talk either. Riding through snow or over ice isn't a picnic.

I'm forgetting myself out here. Forgetting I have responsibilities, forgetting I have a job that once upon at time, I lived for. Forget Logan and I weren't always friends, since we are now.

Logan cares about people too. Makes sure I call the Professor anytime we're about to set out to someplace remote. Tells me to ask about Rogue and Bobby, tease Storm and pester Hank.

It was easy to forget what Logan was out here investigating.

"Been a while", I warn Boy-Scout, "Might be scary"

Scott shrugs and marches into the cabin. I ain't up for the musty indoors yet, so I chop a little wood.

Boy-Scout shuttles in an out like a housewife, bothers askin' if I'm coming in yet to which the only true reply is: "Yes, dear"

Sarcasm is a blessed thing.

Get a laugh outta him, turn my back so he don't catch me smilin'. He ain't bad, better, not who he was yet.

Tell the truth, I want to hide him up here. I catch a faint scent on the air and grab a few logs and head in.

We're being tracked.

Don't wanna tell the kid since he's lookin' good lately, but can't avoid tellin' him something.

I need to take off, do a little dirty work; don't think he needs to see it.

In the doorway, I look at him.

He's a little guy, slim and compact. Gained the weight back, looks normal. Two and a half months did more for him than I thought.

"Need to talk to you, Slim"

He glances up from shaking out a dusty comforter, "So talk"

I shut the door and take a seat close by, take part of the comforter when he hands me some to help him shake it out, "Need to disappear for a bit"

Kid rolls his eyes, smiles a little, shrugs a little, "Yeah, you do that a lot"

I shrug a little back, "Few days this time"

He slows his end of the shaking, "Logan, you let me come out here with you but never ask for any help. I have no idea what we've been doing these past two months. I'm an X-Man, not extra baggage. I can help you"

I smile indulgently. No matter how old he is, I'm older. And as far as helping, he swore off killin' and that's what I'm out to do, no use givin' the guy nightmares if he don't need 'em.

"Need you to look after yourself"

Cocks a head at me, annoyed I don't intend to take him along, but knowin' enough not to argue, "What the hell am I supposed to do out here on my own?"

I pile the comforter in his arms, "Think about what you're gonna do when you go home"

He stares at me, not likin' my suggestion but shaking it off, "When we go home"

I scoff, "I ain't part of that place the way you are. Side's, you're my pet project. Not the other way around"

He glares at me with real heat for the first time in a while and I can't help grinning.

Logan is packing up again, which suggests he'll be gone for as long as he said. Only problem is that he's got no concept of time. A few days to him is a week or two to me.

Time in the cabin, being amiable to each other for the day has mollified me, but I'm ashamed of myself. I didn't used to be this easy to deal with.

Night falls and Logan's itching to set out.

I'm an idiot, I think. Why did I come out here?

Logan can't be bothered with my moping, which works well enough for the both of us. I want to be useful, but I can't do that if Logan won't let me prove myself.

" I'm goin'"

I glance at him from the bed and shrug, "Be careful"

Logan stares hard at me, the way he did all those months ago in my room.

I contemplate telling him to fuck off already, but this is his place. I'm the intruder here.

He walks over, sits by me, unlit cigar stuck out one side of his mouth, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you been gettin'…"

I cut him off, "What? Annoying?"

Logan half grins, "Nah…I was sayin' cute"

I gape at him and he shrugs, "Time around you, Boy-Scout, is turnin' me into a regular pansy. See ya"

And just like before, he's gone.

Blood does things to me.

I smell it and it makes me a little crazier than I already am.

I spill it and have to watch it run its course.

Killin'.

I was made for it. It's my best and only talent.

The Kid doesn't need to see this side of me.

No one does.

When I go back, I'll be Logan.

For Rogue, for Bobby, for 'Ro and Hank.

For the Professor.

For Scott.

But not until I'm done.

A week goes by with me thinking more and more about Logan. I'm not worried about him. He's tough enough.

I'm worried about us.

He can't like me the way I think, but if he could ever possibly, I wonder if it'd ever work.

I have a temper. He has a temper.

I get violent when provoked. He gets violent when provoked.

Neither of us knows the meaning of talking it out.

Neither of us would ask for help understanding.

Neither of us will bend to make the other more comfortable.

Stalemate.

He's outside, choppin' wood. He didn't have to, there's plenty in the case by the door.

He's bored though. Can tell from here.

I sneak up, cause he's makin' plenty a noise and I'll probably get decked for tryin' this once, "Hiya, Slim"

Drops the ax and topples over the pile at his feet. Catches himself and glares over a shoulder, "Asshole"

I raise my hands in mock defense, "Easy, Bub. I jus' want lunch"

Eyes me, still annoyed, but turns back to the cabin. I follow.

I love him mad. He used to be so easy to tease.

We eat in silence, for a bit.

"Where'd you get the bruises?"

I raise an eyebrow: "Bear wrestlin'"

Scott scoffs but watches how they gradually fade to nothing in the hour we laze around the table.

"Now what?"

I scowl, "You're askin' me?"

Slim gets this look in his eye that gets me a little worried, but he's just sitting there, so what harm can he do?

"I thought about it"

I lean back in my chair, look out at the snow, "'Bout goin' home?"

Slim doesn't answer so I look over.

He's taken off his glasses. His head's turned in my direction, "About being cute"

I never thought I'd ever let a man close to me like this ever again.

Back then, I needed to survive, it wasn't ever about feeling.

Logan doesn't know what he's doing, except he sort of does.

I'm feeling this, from head to toe.

Jean always sort of had a thing for Logan.

I get why.

"You got enough godamn pictures?"

Slim grins at me, unrepentant. Digital camera the bane of my existence right this second.

You're getting soft, Logan. Fuckin' soft.

I climb off my bike and stare over his shoulder.

"Just a few more", he tells me, quick kiss on the sharp edge of the jaw.

Yeah, yeah.

Back home and I'm myself again. More of myself actually.

I go and see the Professor first thing; I want to start teaching again.

I missed this place: the manor, the students, and my friends.

Logan is pretending to hate all the attention he's getting, but I'm not the least bit fooled.

I slip out to the lake as soon as I can. I want to share some of this with her.

I feel I need to.

I never expect to actually see her. Alive.

In that moment, kissing her, having surrendered my fear, having opened my eyes, I realize that I loved her.

But that I also belonged to Logan.

She knows this, kisses me harder.

I think: I love you Logan, but I always wanted to die here.

END.


End file.
